


Pirates to Death

by clouds_sanctuary



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels), This Is Not Romance (Webcomic)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Bilingual Character(s), Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain - Freeform, First Mate, Guns, Kidnapping, M/M, OOC-ness, On Hiatus, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pirate AU, Sea cryptid, Siren, Stabbing, Swords, bullet wounds, kraken - Freeform, no idea what i'm doing with this title, pirate terminology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27315895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clouds_sanctuary/pseuds/clouds_sanctuary
Summary: Captain Strade is one of the most feared captains of the seven seas. Upon overhearing a conversation about a treasure that fell from the sky, he sets out, as usual, to make it his by any means necessary. Along for the ride is his first mate Sid, and Ren, the pilot of the ship. Bleeding out another captain, threatening his first mate, and throwing someone overboard are all part of the adventure.
Relationships: Lawrence/Strade (Boyfriend to Death), Sid (This is Not Romance)/Lawrence (Boyfriend to Death), Sid (This is Not Romance)/OC, Sid/Strade (This Is Not Romance)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Pirates to Death

**Author's Note:**

> I go so long without writing a fic that I forget how to write so sorry about that
> 
> note that:  
> \- Sid is Italian in this story and will speak Italian occasionally
> 
> \- the characters may be OOC (like Strade and Sid being a little friendlier as captain and first mate)

“It’s him!” a woman whispered, quickly pointing to something out of vision. The man in front of her took the quickest glance before both of them were scrambling to their feet.

Strade paid them no mind, only focused on getting to the pub and ordering himself a pint of beer.

He strode inside casually, though his very presence had the room falling into a hush with hung heads and wary eyes. He was used to it.

He sat down on a stool, a young man plopping down beside him and pressing his chin into the flesh of his arm, which were both crossed over the wooden U-shaped bar. His shoulder-length hair was an unusual dual-color, with blue covering the majority of his head only to have it fade off into a bright red for his bangs, which hung like octopus tentacles framing his face. His amber eyes were lidded with boredom, lips slightly puckered in a small pout.

Strade noticed this and found himself smiling. “Hey, pal, what’s eatin’ you? You look so down!”

The head of colored hair turned in his direction, amber eyes flicking up to meet brown. “I’m tired of those nasty fuckin’ crackers we gotta keep eating.”

“Hardtack?”

“Whatever,” the young man said, black eyebrows creasing slightly. “They get the worms in them and it’s disgusting. And no one’ll eat the worms for me.”

Strade rolled his eyes at the boy’s complaints, finding them somewhat trivial. His first mate was bred for the sea, fierce, ruthless, aimed like a cannon, and had a knack for torture, yet he still had that boyish streak about him when he got annoyed.

And all of those things were why Strade had recruited him for the sea in the first place.

“You already know all the other stuff goes bad within a week, Sid. Sea conditions aren’t good for perishable food.”

“I don’t care,” Sid muttered. “I don’t want any more of your worm bricks.”

“Aww, don’t be like that, buddy! I can’t have you dying of starvation out there. What would I do without my first mate?”

“Gut everyone with your sword.”

“I do that anyway! But no one else in the crew can aim like you can, you know that!”

Sid supposed that was true. He was gunner for a reason, though he did less of firing cannons and more of firing bullets. He never went anywhere without his twin blunderbusses secured to his belt, making sure he was prepared to fire at any moment, whether by Strade’s word or not.

“Here’s what we’ll do; we’ll bring a barrel load of beer aboard the ship, let you get a drink in every day until it goes sick like seawater. Or you start upchucking. Whichever comes first.” The smile never left Strade’s face as he pat a hand onto Sid’s back. “Okay?”

That sounded like a pretty shit deal, because the crew already had beer to dip the hardtack in, just to make the damn things safe for teeth. And what if the worms ended up drowning in it?

But Sid didn’t want to argue too much. Looks could be deceiving, especially in Captain Strade’s case. That friendly smile had led many a man to an untimely and bloody demise.

“Fine,” he mumbled, glancing up at the barman who had just placed a tall glass mug of fizzy, bubbly beer in front of Strade.

The German cracked another smile, one of those sickly sweet ones that inspired butterflies and festered dread all at the same time, the ones that made your heart speed up for reasons you couldn’t comprehend nor differentiate. He regarded his first mate, asking a simple question.

“What’s my name, Sid?”

Sid took only a moment to process the question before sliding off the stool, swiftly dropping to one knee and catching Strade’s hand in his own. His amber irises reflected devotion and excitement.

“Strade,” he replied, voice silky.

Strade’s smile seemed to widen. He turned to face the crew member sat at his left, his hand still clasped within Sid’s. “What’s my name?”

The crewmate had been chugging beer at the time he was asked, and made an “mm” of acknowledgement before lowering the glass to the wooden bar, swallowing the bitter liquid he had already drank. “Strade.”

Pleased, the brunette stood up, his hand sliding from Sid’s. His eyes scanned the row of seats taken up by his men, any previous occupants having quickly moved to other spots farther away after seeing him and his crew arrive. Sitting directly in front of the bar was their favorite spot and everyone knew it.

“What’s my name, everyone?” he asked out loud, drawing the attention of his crew. The few that managed to catch the question responded accordingly. “You all know what it is.”

That’s when Strade raised his sword, drawing out a small cheer from the others. He would tell them to repeat his name, to say it louder. Around the pub he walked, teasing his blade against the throats of other patrons, just hard enough to frighten them, but not enough to bleed. He knocked things off tables, hearing them clatter and crash against the floor in a symphony of chaos. His foot hooked around the wooden leg of a chair, dragging it out only to kick it backwards. He would pull out another chair, only this one would be used to step up onto a seemingly sturdy table for him to dance on. Sid was at his side, observing him intently and being a consistent partner in the dance.

This was one of the reasons why he followed Strade, why he remained in his crew for so long, been so loyal to the point of becoming first mate. Normally, Sid detested authority. Being told what to do irritated him to no end, and he preferred not to be tied down to anyone. He didn’t know how to handle it. It wasn’t like anyone kept him around for long anyway, so what did it matter? He chose to stay the way Strade found him: alone.

But there was something about the captain he couldn’t say no to. It was neither because Strade was one of the most dreaded men of the seven seas, nor was it the fact that he commanded attention and had a body count to flaunt as persuasion if he didn’t get it. Those things were impressive, of course, but it was the way he carried himself. Strade was as free spirited as Sid was. He was authority, but he was a twisted, brutal authority. He got a thrill from chaos and seeing his adversaries go up in flames—literally. He got a rush from splattering his surroundings with blood. He kept no soul he didn’t gain anything from. Relationships were games to him. Torture was his modus operandi. He enjoyed good food and snacks. He plotted his own course and stuck to it. And it had gotten him quite far if his reputation was anything to go by.

See, Sid and Strade weren’t that different.

The older man had made his way back to the bar, hands held out for two crew members to balance him as he stepped onto the stool, and then the table. “What’s my name, what’s my name?”

The crew had become rambunctious, letting out whoops and laughter as they made the tavern their playground. But they knew to answer the question. “Strade!”

A cackle from said man. Yes, Captain Strade. Everyone knew his name.

After the dance, the pirates decided to retreat to the ship. The midday sun was hidden by the clouds, censoring its warming light from the residents of the small, raggedy town. They were passing two homeless men sat near the pub having a conversation. Upon hearing something of interest, Strade shot an arm out to stop Sid in his tracks, the young man letting out a soft but audible grunt.

He didn’t respond to the look of confusion sent his way. Instead he put on one of his friendly smiles, and turned to walk towards the two men.

“Hey buddy, what’s that I heard you say about a crystal?” Strade nearly chirped. He had a habit of appearing pleasant despite most people knowing he was anything but.

Both men visibly jumped, obviously not expecting to have been heard by Strade of all people.

“Crystal?” the man on the left stated, absentmindedly scratching his chest. “N-Nothin’ about no crystal, Captain Strade.”

Strade’s expression looked almost apologetic. “Aww, buddy, don’t lie to me. I think you know what I’m talking about.” Here he turned slightly to face the dual-haired man beside him, softly jerking his head in the direction of the two vagabonds. This caused Sid to grin and pull out his blunderbuss, cocking the gun. He aimed in the direction of the man, the sound of a bullet embedding itself in the wall behind them was deafening in such close proximity. Both of them jumped, now visibly trembling.

“Wanna rethink those words, _mate?”_ Sid sneered, raising the gun skyward by his own head.

The man on the right quickly spoke before his companion had a chance to respond. “Th-there be a necklace at the bottom of the ocean! No one’s ever been able ta get it. There be a legend, says the thing fell from the sky, and it keeps a power of sorts within its depths.”

Strade mulled over this. Power, huh?

“But it’s just an old tale. There was one man, and one man only, who they say got close to seein’ it. Y’remember Deadwalker? That scurvy dog was always starin’ death in the face. They say he disappeared lookin’ for it, and that’s why he never returned. Said he was goin’ out ta bring it back and show what it could do.

Surely Strade remembered Deadwalker. You weren’t as revered as he was and didn’t know people. But that’s what he had gone looking for? An alien artifact? A genie in a necklace?

Was this really just a legend?

Hell, he wanted to find out.

Never one to pass up an intriguing adventure, Strade stood up straight and turned to leave. A contemplative expression was etched onto his face. “Let’s go, Sid.”

That necklace was his new target.

Ren had listened attentively to the explanation, and though he’d never heard of this mysterious ‘space crystal’ Sid had been talking about, he was prepared nevertheless to navigate to the designated area. They’d have to sail for many days, past monster-infested waters and through the doldrums, but Ren would be lying if part of him didn’t find it exciting. It was no doubt terrifying and he risked his life every day, but still.

He’d been an unwilling companion on Strade’s ship since he was first dragged on, and was given the role of pilot. He had to steer the ship and keep them on course. Given this, he had to know how sharp the ship turned and how deeply she sat in the water.

 _“Volpe,”_ came the voice of the first mate, his native language slithering off his tongue and catching the attention of the pilot, who turned around to meet his amber gaze.

“Yeah?”

His hands were perched on his hips. “Why the long face? You look worse than I did earlier at the pub.”

The fox’s fingers began fidgeting anxiously against his chest. “Oh, I get a little nervous every time we go on a voyage. It’s kinda cool and all, but there’s the cold, and the things in the ocean, and the spoiled food, and the sickness, and...”

Sid nodded, though he couldn’t relate. He liked the danger. Made him feel alive.

“You’ll get over it, like you always do,” the elder said with a few waves of his hand. He turned on his heel, speaking over his shoulder. “Captain said get ready to sail.”

Ren nodded, knowing deep in his gut that Sid was right. He usually got over it. Usually.

But this adventure sounded like one they wouldn’t be coming back from.

Nevertheless, he did as he was told and experimentally turned the wheel, assuring that it was in working condition. The boatswains were loosening the anchor, beginning to raise it from where it was fixed in the sand near the dock, getting a feel for the wind and how it would affect the sails, and doing some last minute general checks on the ship’s exterior by peeking over the edge and doing a quick onceover.

It didn’t take too much time, as the ship was kept in good condition, and once Ren felt that shift in his footing, the force of the ocean pulling them to deeper water, he knew it was time to steer.

“We’re on course, Captain,” Sid grinned, eyes widening with contained excitement. He was hoping they’d run into enemy pirates, a ship they could raid and a puny crew they could give hell to.

Strade mirrored the smile. “Excellent.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- The pub scene was based on "What's My Name" from Descendants 2.


End file.
